


You say flapper like its a bad thing / I need a Witch

by Norickayer



Series: Young Avengers Holiday Exchange 2k17 [1]
Category: Young Avengers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/F, M/M, Xavin and Karolina appear but are not named, YoungAvengersHE2k17, trans Kate Bishop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 07:26:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13359372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Norickayer/pseuds/Norickayer
Summary: Two one-shots:1. America is the new girl in 1920s New York City, just looking for a gay bar. Kate is a trans socialite who usually dates men.2. Teddy is a simple boy in a small village in a fantasy world, but he has a problem that only a Witch can solve. Too bad there isn't one available.Giftfic for Arakni666  on tumblr.





	1. AmeriKate in the Roaring 20s

America was always on the move. It was an itch felt between her shoulder blades, an anxious whisper that feared stagnation more than specific consequences. After a six-week stint in Baltimore, she caught a train up to New York and went about her favorite pastime: casing a town.

  
How she went about it depended on the city. In Baltimore she made contacts by watching people. She sat herself down on a bench at a corner and scanned the crowd for a lavender scarf, a woman in a suit, a knowing glance cast her way. Eventually, she would find one (or several), and she would just ask.

  
“What’s the nightlife like?”

  
In New York she needn’t bother. Someone had left a newspaper on the train, and there it was on page 5: a column pushed to the side, describing the previous night at a Drag Ball in the city. They had kindly noted the location, and there was even a picture, slightly blurred by the humidity of the day. A group of four dancers, three wearing their hair and dresses short, one in a loose-fitted suit and felt fedora.

  
America smiled. Her world was expending already.

* * *

 

  
Two nights later, America felt like she had stepped off the train and right into the photograph. The faded black and grey dots spiraled out and became brickwork, the blurred figures multiplied and dripped with color. In the center, a couple danced: a tall, thin girl with curled blonde hair trapped under a cloche hat. The rainbow fringe of her dress was always in motion, seeing to beckon to her dance partner, an ambiguous figure in a dark suit, their jacket discarded and shirtsleeves rolled up, revealing warm brown arms. The dance continued on, but the dancers’ eyes never left each other.

  
America looked away. She didn’t consciously know what drew her eye at first, maybe a stray motion, or a reflection of the gas lights.

  
There was a figure dancing alone. Her beaded dress was the color of Forget-me-nots, and America knew she looked familiar. She approached the lone dancer without thought, drawn in as if by magnetism.

  
“The photo didn’t do you justice, little Prince. Or is it Princess?” The words were pulled from her mouth, and America almost regretted them when the dancer paused and stared at her. She looked America up and down, but it wasn’t the soft, caressing gaze that America associated with events in the Lavender underground. This was the hard, analytical search that strangers give one another, to decide who was safe.

  
“I’m America. I’m guessing the name in the paper wasn’t what you go by,” America said as a peace offering.

  
Those eyes. Dark brown, framed by fine, black hair that refused to hold a curl. Instead, it fell in a fringe, once above her eyes and another to either side, cupping her cheekbones lovingly.

  
“Kate,” the dancer said.

  
“You want to dance?” America held out her hand. Kate finally smiled, her laugh somehow drowning out the band’s music.

  
“I thought I already was.”

* * *

 

  
The music flowed into them and they let it take them. There was the distant blur of the crowded party, the tap tap tap of feet on the wooden floor, the bright light of the gas lights above, and the sparkle of Kate’s smile, which reappeared more and more often as the night went on.

  
When finally the guests began to file and stumble out in ones and twos, heeled shoes in hand, America was reluctant to let the night end. When Kate began to pull away-

  
“Stay,” America suggested, “we’ll find another joint.”

  
Kate’s rouged lips pulled in a sad smile. “This was fun, America. But look at me. Look at where we are. Do I look like I date women?”

  
America laughed this time. She gestured to herself, the too-long slacks cuffed at her ankles, the unbuttoned vest over an oxford shirt. “What is it you think a lesbian looks like?”

  
“You think I’m a lesbian?” Kate asked.

  
“I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

  
Kate’s smile was dazzling, even in the dying light. “Lead the way then.”

* * *

 

  
America could take a good game, but she didn’t actually know where two gay gals could hang out in the dead of night. She tried to hide it, though. If this was Kate’s first introduction to the world of loving women, America would do her best to be a good guide.

  
She pulled out all of her skills, every code word and tilt of the head from New Orleans.

  
“Know a place where two girls can have a gay time?” Led them to a speakeasy full of straight men, and asking about “a place to let my hair down” led them to a brothel. After “lavender” resulted in a confused pedestrian shaking her head, America had to admit defeat.

  
Kate, far from being disappointed, thought this was hilarious. “You’re really not from around here, are you?”

  
America fought the urge to defend herself and her fragile gay honor.

  
“Listen, in New York we don’t play around. You can be pretty blunt, so long as you don’t ask the wrong person.”

  
Kate took a turn asking around, and had the good graces not to look too smug when they were hastily directed to the back room of a nearby café.

  
She may have winked. Winking wasn’t too smug, was it?

  
Kate opened the wooden door and faltered. The room was dim, and full of smoke, but it wasn’t immediately evident if they had found their gay sanctuary.

  
America, too was looking around in confusion.

  
“Yeah Kate, you’re so much better at this!” she teased. But it had been a long night, and a long search, so the pair settled down at a table anyway. A Jazz musician played his tune on the stage, and although the tune was unfamiliar, it seemed like a soft reprise of the music at the Ball.

  
“Well technically, does a joint become a gay joint when gay people show up?” Kate asked, twirling a lock of hair around her finger in mock contemplation.

  
America reached over and rubbed the lock between her thumb and forefinger. “Yeah, we can say it does.”

  
The next table over, a girl with curled blonde hair ran her hand across her date's suit jacket and laughed. It was not a loud sound, but it was enough to tickle Kate's ear. She glanced over in mild curiosity. WHen she realized what she was looking at, she joined in the laughter.

  
"Looks like I really do win!" She announced. America spun in her seat to look. She sighed in defeat.

  
"The dancers from the Ball?"

  
"Yup," Kate chirped.

  
"Alright, alright. But you had the home court advantage, Princess."

  
"Whatever makes you feel better about yourself, darling."

 


	2. Wiccling in high fantasy

If asked, Theodore would describe his village as comfortable. Located in a valley between hills, they got a good amount of rain and a good amount of sun, and so their farmlands had been consistently prosperous for years. They did well enough, and they were small enough that Theodore knew most of the residents by name, and the rest by reputation. It was a nice place to live.

He never had described his village this way though, because no one had ever asked him. The few people to travel through the hilly terrain to trade did not have business with the teenage son of a weaver. So Teddy had never really interacted with strangers in years.

  
He suddenly wished he did, because he had… concerns. Concerns that would be better discussed with someone who wasn’t stuck fast in the social web of the village as he was.

  
So great was his concern that one morning he finally caved and went to the one person in the area who might have answers for him.

  
He packed a hard lump of cheese for himself, anticipating the journey. He packed a jar of preserved fruit as a gift, like the folktales bid. As an afterthought, he picked some flowers by the roadside as well. His mother loved having bright things inside the house, and it couldn’t hurt to offer the same to the village Witch.

* * *

 

  
The Witch lived on the edge of the village, further even than some of the farms. Contrary to the rumors children spread, she was not forced to live there, and she was not hated by her village. She might be feared at times, but she felt that they feared her like small children fear horses, because they know a powerful, strong-minded being when they see one, and they know to give both witches and horses the respect they are due.

  
The Witch was well-respected. Not only in her village, but in the wider country as well. Other witches, mages, shamans, and educated folk looked to her for advice and assistance when things went awry.

  
And things… were awry. Omens, mundane and magical, were appearing at a much higher rate than the background magical energy should deserve. The tides had begun to shift. Mage Strange, who lived at the foot of Mt. Vishanti, reported that a basilisk had laid an egg. Then, right in her own yard, her son caught a two-headed shrew slinking around the chicken coop.

  
Wanda twisted her lips, rested her hands on her hips, and decided she needed to find answers. If omens were going out of their way to find her, she needed to be proactive.

  
By coincidence, she made this decision on the same morning that Teddy did. Perhaps they even passed one another on the dusty road, each traveler so distracted by their own concerns that they failed to notice the company.

  
Regardless, Wanda the Witch set out with her traveling coat to find answers, and Teddy arrived to the Witch’s cottage to find the Witch was out.

* * *

 

  
“She's... not here." Teddy felt the sureness, the ambition, the strength drain from his arms with disappointment. He almost dropped his wicker basket.

  
Billy, the WItch's son, lunged to help him catch it.

  
"Yeah, I'm really sorry! She doesn't leave the village often, but she started off East just before noon."

  
The two boys stared at eachother, and although they had never met before, they both took off East at a run, hoping to catch the Witch, who may not otherwise return for weeks.

  
When they energy waned, their run turned into a brisk trot, then the steady walking pace of a long-distance traveler. At every curve in the road, Billy imagined he saw the flicker of his mother’s red cloak, but the road remained stubbornly empty.

  
At first, they spoke little, out of breath from the mad dash that began their journey. But the two boys each stole glances at their companion, trying to glean as much information as possible in the span of seconds. Eventually, when Teddy glanced over at Billy, only to see Billy’s eyes meet his own, conversation broke out.

  
“So are you a witch, too?” Teddy asked, his eyes lingering on the ragged red cloak that draped across Billy’s shoulders.

  
Billy blushed, a soft pink color that barely broke through his olive skin tone. “Ah, not yet. I’m apprenticed under Mom, but mostly that means running errands into town and gathering herbs in the forest.” He gestured to his attire, “This is her old traveling cloak. I got her a new one for Yule last year.”

  
Teddy nodded in understanding. “I remember that cloak. My mom took weeks to finish weaving all that red fabric. She wanted it to be perfect once she found out it was for the Witch.” He looked down at the dirt road beneath their feet. “She’s really grateful to your mom. I guess she helped us a lot when I was a kid. I was sick a lot in those days.”

  
“Oh,” Billy breathed in wonder. To think that Teddy had been so close all their lives, but just out of reach. Logistically he realized that they had probably passed one another in the street many times. They had attended all the same festivals, markets, and funerals. Billy’s attention had always been inward, on magic and identity and what the future might hold. Looking at his traveling companion, he began to regret his own self-centeredness.

  
They walked on.

* * *

 

  
“What if we don’t catch up to her?”

  
Billy paused. Up until then, he had operated under the assumption that his mother was just beyond reach; just over the next hill, perhaps, or that she had turned left at a fork when they had turned right. But if she was truly out of reach? If she had caught a ride with a carriage or horseman, or even worse, if she had gone into the Faerie land!

  
What if she had gone somewhere that Billy and Teddy truly could not follow?

  
“Well, maybe I could help you,” Billy decided. “I’m not a Witch yet, but I help mom all the time with herbs and spells. What exactly did you need her for?” Billy had spent most of the last twenty-four hours with Teddy, and he still wasn’t sure exactly what the handsome boy needed from their village Witch. There had been hints, parts of an explanation scattered among conversations: “I need advice” “There’s no one else to turn to” and “this curse.”

  
Teddy swallowed hard. “I hope so.” And so he told Billy. For the first time in his life, he recounted out loud each of the strange things that happened around him, every detail he kept carefully hidden lest his mother or a neighbor discover the curse.

  
“Ever since I remember, strange things happen around me. Sometimes my skin turns red and burns. It happens mostly when I do certain chores, or when I touch the iron signpost next to the blacksmith. At first I honestly thought it was the blacksmith who was cursed.”

  
“But it wasn’t?” Billy asked, intrigued.

  
“No, there’s more. My skin doesn’t just turn red. Sometimes it turns green. And it doesn’t burn, but it feels scaly, like a fish or a lizard. And… sometimes I dream I can fly.”

  
“That’s… really something,” Billy replied. He wracked his brain, but couldn’t think of anything his mother might have mentioned to cause such a curse.

  
“Does it sound familiar?” Teddy asked, hopeful. His blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight and reflected the sky.

  
Billy does something very, very stupid. He should have admitted that no, actually that sounds bizarre and inexplicable and the closest thing he’s heard of is when people’s mouths turn red from eating beetroot. But those eyes and that hopeful smile are tugging at Billy’s heart, and he can’t bear to tear that look from this boy’s face.

  
Instead, he says, “I think so. A few years ago, mom mentioned something. I can’t quite remember, but it’ll come to me.” He paused and considered how big a hole he had just dug. “But we should try to stay on Mom’s tail, just in case.”

* * *

 

  
Eventually, they would be joined on their quest. They would meet Kate, a runaway elf with her stolen bow, Eli, the son of a royal guardsman, a knight in all but name, and Cassie, who was hiding a magical secret of her own.

  
They would search every town in the region for someone with the knowledge to help Teddy, but they would find the best and brightest mages gone, called away on a mysterious mission.

  
Their biggest clue would be found not in a WItch's hut or a Sorcerer's tower, but in the song of a passing bard, and one word:

  
"Changling."


End file.
